Page 65 of Conning the Billionaire
Micah grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?”
Kylie yanked her arm away and covered the phone with her hand. “Quiet! Please! It’s about my sister.” She glanced at the phone, startled. “Hello? Mr. Grande, sir?”
Micah sat back on the floor and watched her.
Her delicate hands gripped the phone, smashing it against her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, puffy eyelids rolling over her long, dark eyelashes. A teardrop ballooned from the corner of her eye and traced a line toward the phone.
As he watched, his forearms resting on his knees, Kylie’s eyes flared open, and she glared at him. Gathering her legs underneath her, she stood and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
A hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars littered the floor around him.
Micah scooped the packets together, carrying them to the coffee table and dumping them there.
Kylie didn’t seem impressed to have over a hundred grand sitting at her feet.
Instead, she’d called a mafia boss while on the verge of tears.
Well, she’d said it was about her sister.
He walked over to the suite’s kitchenette and tapped on his phone, reordering the same sandwich and soup she’d wanted for lunch the day before and a burger for himself from room service.
She’d been in such a hurry to start the scam rolling.
Like Don Grande was really in her head.
It was as if Kylie owed the Mob a hell of a lot of money or something.
Micah looked toward the bedroom.
How had she gotten out of the eighty-thousand-dollar scam at the Borgata he’d pulled to test her, anyway?
He scrubbed his hands over his face.
Dammit, he’d assumed she’d talked her way out of it because he’d left several big enough cracks for her to slip through. That fake ID he’d booked the room at the Borgata under wasn’t even close to a real New Jersey driver’s license. Jesus, the lettering was wrong on it, and the home address didn’t exist.
If she owed Don Grande eighty thousand dollars for paying off the Borgata for her, he might have pressured her to turn on Micah. She’d had no money before today. Eighty grand is a hell of a lot of pressure.
He walked over and tried the door to the bedroom.
Locked.
He pounded on it. “Kylie!”
The bedroom door clicked open.
She stepped out and slumped against the wall. “We have a meeting with him at one o’clock Wednesday afternoon.”
“What did you say the appointment was for?”
She sighed, and her shoulders fell as she gazed at the carpeting. “I’ll go in for a few moments, and then you’ll come in and tell him about your new art authentication service that you’re offering for free because you respect his collection so much.”
Micah didn’t like this at all. If she’d sold him out for the repayment of her debt or the info on her sister, he would walk into a room draped in plastic tarps. “And I know about his collection, how?”
Kylie flipped her hands in the air. “I don’t know. Because rich people talk about art, I guess. You said you know people in low places.”
Yeah, but he sure didn’t want Salvatore Grande to know that. “I’ll figure out a line.”
“And you’re going to do the thing with the art, sample it or whatever you have to do, and I’m going to convince him that he needs to tell me where my sister is.”
